Grey Haven
by Ripper101
Summary: A young Aragorn is finding it hard to keep control of a shaming secret. And what happens when he needs Elrond to forget he was ever his foster son And Elrond cannot find it in his heart to ever do so? SLASH WARNING.
1. 1

Pairing: Elrond/Aragorn  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own anything except the storyline.  
  
Author's Note: This is set years before LoTR. I've read the books ages ago, so forgive me if I step wrong with my facts or references. But Aragorn is still Estel, staying with his foster family and riding with Elladan and Elrohir on patrols and such. He's very young here, enough to be uncertain and nervy.   
  
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The moment that horses' hooves could be heard thudding dully over springy turf, Arwen jumped off her seat on the side of the clearing and made to the middle, hoping to catch her returning siblings on their way home. Elrond was clearly not in any hurry to do the same, but he sat back and watched indulgently. After all, his Evenstar had been so excited about this day that he hadn't the heart to spoil her mood.  
  
Three horses burst into the clearing, pulling to a practised stop as the two elves and one mortal youth caught sight of their welcoming committee.  
  
"Arwen!" Elladan laughed, leaning down precariously to clasp her arm.  
  
Elrond bit back a warning to be careful and stood up slowly. His watchful eyes lingered on each son in turn, finally coming to rest on Aragorn. The youth, however, had his eyes fixed on Arwen and was... currently trying very hard not to let Elrond know he was hurt.  
  
"Estel," the Elf Lord called imperiously, "You are wounded?"  
  
Aragorn glanced down, quickly shaking his head and getting awkwardly off the horse. He favoured his right side as much as he was able and only the twins saw him wince with the searing pain of an arrow-wound. "Tis nothing," he said thickly, turning to offer a tight smile, "A small scratch."  
  
An elegantly dark eyebrow lifted.  
  
"All right, it is a little more than a scratch but it is almost healed," Aragorn sighed, "You have taught me some healing ways, you know."  
  
Elrond pursed his lips in displeasure. Were men always this stubborn or was it just this particular breed? Aragorn never willing spoke of injury, often resulting in getting even worse, as had happened with a feverish illness not four years before. The boy had almost died! "I will take a look at it when we reach the house. The human body is not as strong as the elvish one. And do not ride at such speeds; it will do you no good and Imladris goes nowhere."  
  
Aragorn looked at the grass beneath his feet. It had interesting patterns, he thought dully. And just his luck, he had to be the only one who came back with wounds. Only a four-week patrol and he had to show his human weaknesses... again!  
  
Elrond felt accusing eyes on him. He raised his head to the identical warnings on the faces of both of his sons. With the feeling that something beyond him was taking place, he gave a slight frown. Which did no good because Estel happened to look up at that moment and then looked quickly away again, a pained expression on his face. That, Elrond needed no one to disapprove of.  
  
Aragorn was startled when delicately long fingers suddenly raised his face to meet a smiling grey gaze.  
  
"Ion nin, I do not mean to disparage you or your skills," Elrond said gently, trying to show his apology as openly as was possible for him, "I merely wish to check for poison. I am sure you did all that was necessary."  
  
Aragorn gave him a quick twist of the lips, the sorrow leaving his eyes almost instantly at the kind words.  
  
Except... except the elf also noticed that a deeper sorrow shone through, something he'd seen often in Aragorn's eyes but never been able to pinpoint. "I care for you, Estel," Elrond said quietly, "I am glad you are home."  
  
"I am glad to be back, Ada," Aragorn said carefully.  
  
The clearing was still and silent as Elrond made his excuses to go back to his work and left. Even the trees had stopped whispering in their attention to this strange little scene between man and elf, foster son and foster father. And Arwen was stunned when Aragorn finally slumped and got painfully back on his horse.  
  
"Ada?" Elrohir echoed, grey eyes sympathetic and understanding.  
  
Elladan helped Arwen to mount behind him but added his own comments- "You will have to tell him sometime, Estel. The sooner he knows the better will such tensions ease."  
  
Aragorn smiled his now- typical bitter smile and shook his dark head. "Whatever lies in my heart will stay there. Ada he is and Ada he will remain. He wants nothing more from the human child he has raised."  
  
Arwen was quickly catching on, but apart from a quiet gasp of surprise, she said nothing, merely staring with big eyes and seeing truths she'd never thought to see. That her brothers knew wasn't a surprise; patrols such as the last one threw them very much together and encouraged a closeness that soon revealed such things.  
  
"You are old enough," Elladan argued, gesturing impatiently with his hands, "You have your majority and it is only fair to tell him. And you are no mere child; you are the heir to Gondor. Should the Lord of Imladris be willing, both will benefit from such an alliance."  
  
Elrohir rolled his eyes at his twin's heavy-handedness. "What my eloquent brother means to say is- perhaps such a relationship is not as forbidden as you think. But whether you want to tell him is your business. Personally, I see your point that it will do no good. Ada would only worry that he would hurt you."  
  
Aragorn said nothing, merely twitching his horse into a gentle canter away from the clearing. His brothers would not understand, and Arwen's face was already registering the kind of shock that he knew any elf would feel if they but guessed. His side was aching with a dull throb and he longed to race home quickly- even in the fresh bursts of pain- if only to lie down and stop thinking. But Elrond had commanded it, and Aragorn would no more disobey a concerned order from him than he could hope to stop loving him. -------------------------------------------  
  
Elrond was frankly quite worried. He had work piled up and his mind filled with a half-a-dozen things he needed to finish before sunset and still his thoughts were only wrapped around one problem- Estel... what had gone wrong?  
  
The Elf Lord sat back in his chair, glaring morosely at the half-written missive to Lothlorien in front of him as he tried to think things through. He hadn't meant to insult the boy, but lately everything he said was creating tensions between them so thick Elrond was certain a blunt sword could cut them. If he showed concern, Estel looked unhappy. If he tried to hide his concern, Estel looked downright miserable. What was he doing wrong?  
  
The knock at the door was somewhat thankful in the circumstances. Except that it was Estel.  
  
"You said you wanted to check for poison," Aragorn blurted, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway.  
  
Elrond nodded, put a pleasantly blank look on his face and gestured to a chair. "Sit, ion nin. It will only take a short time and will doubtless be unnecessary."  
  
Aragorn nodded absently and sat, eyes fixed on the floor so that he wouldn't have to look at Elrond's face. Or his hands. Or his hair. Or the rest of him. There wasn't a part of his foster father he didn't desire and need. Which was exactly what had got him in trouble with the twins the year before- he'd inadvertently cried out aloud in his sleep. He'd also received a black eye from Elladan for his troubles.  
  
"... Estel? Aragorn!"  
  
"Yes! I'm sorry, what?"  
  
Elrond was currently standing over him, an odd look in his eyes. "Take off your shirt," he repeated for the fourth time.  
  
Aragorn stopped himself from blushing but couldn't hide the tremble in his fingers. And it wasn't just from the closeness of his love either! The injury had opened slightly on the edges and blood was dripping freely down the side.  
  
Elrond sighed and went down on his knees to better see it. He didn't notice the consternation on the human's face, or bother overmuch when he pushed Estel's knees apart so as to get closer.  
  
Aragorn was hysterically convinced he'd died and this was heaven! But a frightening heaven, if that- for surely Elrond did not kneel to anyone? Hell, if he knew what his son was thinking as they assumed this innocent position, he'd doubtless banish Aragorn from Imladris all together.  
  
It took too long and ended far too soon. Within seconds Elrond had applied the aloe and wrapped the injury again. He stood up, went back to his bottles and pots and extracted a powder, which he dissolved in a glass of water.  
  
"Drink this," he ordered gently, "It will help prevent any fevers."  
  
Aragorn obediently drank it down and then stood up to go back to his room. He was light-headed and exhausted, a lethal combination with heartache, and meant to sleep for an eternity. But eternity suddenly stopped its relentless march when the glass slipped from his fingers and he pitched forward in a semi-faint.  
  
Elrond grabbed him just before he fell, cushioning his head on a broad shoulder and wrapping strong arms around his slender waist. Cursing silently in his head, he whispered soothing words in the boy's ear, petting him until the dizziness passed. He could feel the exhaustion leaking from Aragorn's pores, could hear the almost sluggish beat of his heart where it pressed against his own. Moreover, his sharp ears caught a whimper of pain that cut him to the quick. Seeing any of his children in this condition was terrifying, and Aragorn seemed to be having enough troubles of his own.  
  
"Estel, have you eaten lately," he asked severely, remembering the too-thin look of the human's torso, "You are practically starved, little one. Come! In here!" Aragorn made a weak sound of protest. "No arguments, Estel. You will do as I tell you."  
  
He took his burden into his bedroom and helped him into the bed, refraining very much from fussing with covers because he knew from experience how Estel had hated that, even as a child. "Lie still. But do not sleep yet; I will call for some food to be brought. You will eat and rest here until tomorrow."  
  
"But, Elrond, I..." Grey eyes sharpened to the piercing strength of diamonds. Aragorn stiffened, wide-eyed as he realized what he'd done. "I- I mean, Ada... I'm fine. If I could be helped to my own bed, I'll rest there. You do not need to bother with me."  
  
"Estel, you cannot be wandering the halls in that condition. And of course, I bother about you; your ride back has obviously not helped to heal that wound. It is nothing to be ashamed of, but the fact is that you do not have elven healing. You need time, penneth. And until I am satisfied that you will not fall over on a simple walk, you will stay here."  
  
"No," Aragorn argued mulishly, struggling up from the bed and fighting the light-headed feeling of blood loss as well the older elf's hands.  
  
"Aragorn, lie still!"  
  
"No! I will not stay here in your bed!"  
  
"Why is it so hard for you to accept my help?" Elrond snapped suddenly, losing his temper completely for a few frazzled minutes. He wasn't trying to hold the child hostage, but dammit, he trying to help! "As a healer, I will not have you do what your body cannot stand. As a father, I am..."  
  
"You are not my father," Aragorn retorted back, dark eyes blazing with an emotion half-anger, half-need, "You are not my father and you were not my father and you never will be my father!"  
  
A quick indrawn breath and Elrond went still, not being able to guard against such hurt. After all these years and all the childhood memories, he simply couldn't understand it! Had Estel always felt like this? He didn't remember seeing the child opposed to his care before. Indeed, Estel had seemed to rejoice in it more than any other, a flattering and soothing position for the Elf Lord to be in.  
  
"Why?" he finally asked, his eyes full of sadness, "What have I done that was so wrong?"  
  
"It is not you," Aragorn muttered, sliding his hands over his face, "You were the best father a child could have. But you are not my father. You only act like it."  
  
"But Estel, I have not been acting. I care for you as my child and as such I treat you. If there is a problem I had hoped you would come to me with it. If you are injured, I would treat you myself. I watch for your safety and well-being. My heart aches for your troubles and has pride for your achievements. How much more of a father can I be?"  
  
Aragorn shook his head silently, the tears clenched behind tightly closed eyes. He wished he'd never come to Elrond; he wished he'd brought one of the twins with him; he wished Legolas were here so he could talk to his friend. Moreover, he wished he hadn't been the cause of that bewildered pain in the voice of the one being he'd give his life to safe from harm.  
  
"Estel?"  
  
Aragorn kept his eyes shut and did not answer.  
  
Elrond sighed once more, daring to reach out a finger and trace a soft line on the hollowed cheek. Troubles there were, and they would be dealt with. For now, Estel needed his sleep. Even eating could wait until he was fully rested. So deciding, the elf got to his feet and left the room, firmly ordering himself not to turn back when the soft gasp of heartbroken crying filtered out of the room.  
  
A young Aragorn is finding it very hard to keep his shaming secret to himself. And of course Elrond is oblivious. What happens when Aragorn needs Elrond to forget he was ever his foster father, and Elrond can't find a way to do so? 


	2. 2

Arwen looked to the figure standing silently in the darkened gardens. Coming to stand next to him, she offered a small smile. Aragorn smiled back to one who had been his sister and relaxed, stretching out his hand for her to hold.  
  
They both just stood still for a while, letting the peace and beauty of the night wrap around them. The trees seemed to be leaning in to them, trying to huddle them closer as if sensing their respective pains and offering comfort.  
  
Finally Aragorn felt his jaw unstick. Arwen could always make him talk simply by standing beside him! "You know my needs," he said, "Are you shocked?"  
  
She shrugged. "I always thought you saw Ada as Ada. I never knew you felt... what you do."  
  
"And now you know that he isn't Ada, not to me. Does it disgust you?"  
  
The bitterness in his voice spun her around to face him, a clear warning in her soft voice. "It does not. Love is love no matter who it is. Never be ashamed of that." Aragorn looked too taken aback to do more than nod. "Are you ashamed of loving him?"  
  
Surprisingly enough, the young man seriously considered it, tilting his head to the side as he thought. But he shook his head after careful deliberation.  
  
Arwen smiled and nodded. Grimly, she decided to test him further. "Then say his name."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
A dark eyebrow so like the ones he loved lifted, challenging him.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Arwen simply sighed and kept her gaze steady.  
  
"Very well then..." Aragorn took a deep breath, looked nervously around and opened his mouth- "Elrond."  
  
As if like magic the worry dissipated from Aragorn's face, leaving it young and smooth again. Thin lips twitched in a slight smile and the eyes acquired a soft glow as they saw a picture that no one else could see.  
  
Arwen caught her breath at that look and felt her own heart turn over. For two years she'd been in love with this man, had watched him and longed for him; and now she was to give him up for her father's sake. Hopelessly saddened and yet happy for her love- after all, she knew what that felt like, the light that could gleam in a person's heart with pure love.  
  
"Tell him," she whispered urgently, pressing his arm with sympathy, "If you're truly sure of the way you feel then you should not be ashamed to show it."  
  
Aragorn still hadn't lost the simple joy of just saying Elrond's name, so the euphoria buoyed him up enough to drift back indoors with a tread so light he might just have been walking on air. After all, he had faced orcs and life-threatening injuries. He'd fought in battles half the men his age hadn't ever dreamed of. He could surely handle a simple task like telling Elrond Peredhel quite firmly and clearly the reason he'd refused to call the elf his father?  
  
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Elrond was going to bed. Night was night and elves might live for eternity but he was certainly aging. He could lie and close his eyes and not stare at anything of his below the shoulder, but the truth was that he was Half- Elven. Apparently that meant he aged.  
  
The elaborate, flowing robes he affected for day-wear were taken off, dropped carelessly over a chair because he simply couldn't be bothered with them right now. Slipping on a pair of loose leggings, he sat before the mirror and took the clips out of his hair, brushing it back into a long black waterfall. Working swiftly, he braided it and tied it off.  
  
He was almost not aware of the person entering his outer chambers. He stiffened, his hand instantly reaching for the dagger he kept on his table when the handle on his bedroom door turned.  
  
"Elrond?"  
  
He dropped the dagger with relief, only to frown at another thought. Elrond? Since when had Estel ever called him by his given name? "Yes?" he called back, standing and turning.  
  
Aragorn came in, his jaw dropping at his object of desire's state of undress. "I, uh, didn't mean to..." then he straightened up and stopped acting like a little boy, "No... no, I didn't mean to. But I am glad I did." For the first time that he could remember, he let his eyes slide sensuously over the bared skin. And it was dizzying.  
  
"Estel, are you all right?"  
  
"I am here and you are there. All is right with my world," Aragorn grinned, prowling ever closer with small steps.  
  
Elrond unconsciously drew back, an apprehensive look in his eyes. His son just did not look very much like a son at the moment; rather, he looked like a tiger about to pounce on its prey. And the elf was very sure he didn't like being pounced on. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"I have something to tell you," Aragorn said sternly, "In fact, you should probably be sitting for this." He gestured pointedly to a chair. Elrond sat down with a thump, still warily keeping his eyes fixed on Aragorn's strangely flushed face. "Elrond, I know you see me as a child. And maybe I am! After all, you are millennia old and I am only in my twentieth year. But I am not an elf, Elrond. I need you to know that."  
  
Elrond was finding this conversation extremely peculiar. For some reason Aragorn sounded half-witted, though very earnest. And why was the ridiculous boy on his knees at his feet? "Estel, are you drunk?"  
  
"Drunk?" Well, that sounded insulting from where Aragorn was sitting- especially as he'd refused even the light wine at dinner. "No, I'm very sane and very clear-headed. But I'm not an elf."  
  
"You're not an elf," Elrond repeated obediently, deciding to humour this unusual mood.  
  
"I'm human..."  
  
"You're human..."  
  
"Therefore I have reached my majority..."  
  
"You have your majority..."  
  
"And I'm in love with you."  
  
"And you're... WHAT?"  
  
And now that was too much! Estel had played tricks when he'd been a boy, but this was tasteless and crude. Elrond's face hardened and he got regally to his feet, neatly side-stepping the kneeling figure before him to make to the door. On his way he picked up a light sleeping robe with simple wooden buttons down the front. Pausing for a moment to put it on and hold it closed, the elf then opened the door and stared frigidly at his son.  
  
"Estel, I have no doubt you have some meaning behind this. For your sake I would hope this is some manner of joke. Please leave. I'm tired and I wish to go to sleep."  
  
Aragorn blinked, his euphoria forgotten, vanishing like soap bubbles in the air. A sudden remembrance of his first bath in Imladris and how Elrond had put him in his own personal bathing pool; the little infant had been terrified of drowning but Elrond had distracted him by pouring something that foamed into the water. Bubbles... broken dreams popping around him as if he was back in the bath and the water had cooled.  
  
"Estel," Elrond snapped, grey eyes still silver with frosty warning.  
  
Slowly the human got to his feet and made his way back out. Elrond's normally dormant viciousness rose up for an instant and he smashed the door to behind him. Breathing hard, he leaned against the wooden structure for long enough to catch his breath.  
  
There would be no sleep for either one that night. 


	3. 3

Author's Note: Sorry, but I needed to re-do due to a misunderstanding of the proper theory. In case anyone was wondering, it was the Grey Havens bit. For some reason I equated it to Valinor; can't think why. Anyway, hope it doesn't confuse people.

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That morning, breakfast was silent. Elrond was fuming quietly to himself, snapping at anyone who spoke to him with a razor-sharp tongue. Even Erestor had not been exempt from his ill-temper. And as for Estel, the youth hadn't shown up at all, preferring to lie shell-shocked in his own bed with the memory of those anger-filled grey eyes bored into his mind.  
  
But now the man looked at the ceiling from his pillow and couldn't keep the agony from his face. Oh yes, Elrond had been disgusted, had wanted nothing to do with such a one as he. That fact alone contained more hurt than all the agonies of war together.  
  
Hours later Elladan and Elrohir happened upon him still in bed, a dull look in his eyes and a white line around his mouth. As one, they put together his blinding pain and their father's anger and guessed what had taken place. As one, they came in and shut the door firmly behind them.  
  
Aragorn looked at them with only half recognition, still dwelling in thoughts and memories, floating away in his mind so he could leave such soul-destroying pain behind.  
  
"You told him, then," Elladan said, clearing his throat unnecessarily.  
  
Aragorn nodded. "Last night," he intoned, "I barely said it when he threw me out of his room. He said he hoped it was a joke. He turned me away, Elladan. How?"  
  
Elladan looked pleadingly to his twin. Elrohir was usually the one who could talk Aragorn out of his depressions. And clearly it couldn't be Elrond this time.  
  
Aragorn continued, sounding breathless and stunned as his thoughts formed on his lips. "Why? I've tried so hard. I've done everything; become everything. He was glad I was home and now he will wish to abandon me. I know I'm not worthy of him, but my heart is pure and I hurt no one by loving him. I'm not handsome or rich or- or influential. Sweet Elbereth, I'm not even an elf! But I love him... doesn't mean that anything at all? Why cannot he want me just a little?"  
  
Elrohir cleared his throat. "Estel, you knew that Ada had no idea about any of this. You can hardly expect him not to be shocked and incredulous when you go to his bedchamber at night and tell him such things." He hesitated and then plunged once more. "You also knew that there was every chance Ada would not fall on your neck with a glad cry, my friend."  
  
The long inhuman wail from the broken figure on the bed startled both elvish males enough that they clutched convulsively at each other and stared in shock and horror as Aragorn let go of every façade of bravery he'd ever had and cried his heart out.  
  
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Arwen too had guessed the reason for her father's black mood very quickly. Being the one the most like him, she supposed she could read him better than her siblings. At any rate it was clear the Elf Lord was more enraged at himself than he was at anyone else.  
  
Arwen waited only until Elrond went outside to the gardens before following.  
  
"I need no nursemaid," Elrond snapped, surprising her with his knowledge. She had thought him to be preoccupied. "What is it, Arwen? I had hoped for some time to myself."  
  
"And you will get that," she promised, laying a gentle hand on his arm, "But I must first be allowed to be your concerned daughter. What bothers you, Ada? Has someone upset you?"  
  
The stiff, formal robes fell from under her fingers as Elrond stepped away. Ostensibly he went to examine a delicate summer's flower; in truth, he couldn't bear the question. "It is private."  
  
"It is Estel," she answered implacably.  
  
Grey eyes clashed with grey eyes and a battle of wills was on. Neither would back down, neither gave an inch and most importantly, both reached desperately for the truth in each other's stare.  
  
"Yes," the elder said abruptly, "It is Estel. But it is also still private. I want no more talk of this. Please, Arwen, leave me to myself for a few moments, as a concerned daughter."  
  
The elf-maiden couldn't resist a smile. Trust her father to turn her own phrases on her! Putting her pretty nose in the air, she pretended to twitch the hem of her simple white gown after her on her way back to the house. Elrond's quiet chuckle followed her pert teasing.  
  
And it was precisely that which she could not stand. She loved Aragorn, but Aragorn loved Elrond; and she too loved Elrond, though her needs from him were different. It frightened her sometimes, this need to do right. "He loves you with all his heart, Ada," Arwen murmured gently, "Do not make him despise himself for it. He suffers greatly, I know. It- it is never easy to admit to a love one knows is hopeless."  
  
"Love? Arwen, I am his father!"  
  
"And as his father you have a duty to answer him!" she retorted. The sun scattered fiery embers on the dark hairs around her face. "He is young and eager. But he also has a heart. And that heart is right now clenched and bleeding in your hand. Do not scorn it and throw it in the dust; go to him. Give it back to him gently and explain. You owe him that much."  
  
Elrond was left to watch his daughter trail a heavy walk back to the serene house. In the sleepy golden sunshine of summer in Imladris, such drama was not to be borne! And Estel- in love with him? What maggot had put such an idea in the child's head? It was downright indecent for Estel to even ask him for such love!  
  
"But you are right, my Arwen," Elrond groaned, looking back to his red summer's bloom, "There is a conversation to be had."  
  
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"Estel?"  
  
Elrohir jumped back and stared wildly to the door. "It's Ada," he hissed, turning frantically to Aragorn.  
  
The youth was even then struggling into clothes and hastily smoothing his hair into some semblance of its ordered mess. "I'm not here," he hissed back.  
  
"Uh, Estel's not here," Elladan called.  
  
Elrond compressed his lips over a smile and sweetly opened the door, standing regally in the doorway and looking from Estel's terrified face to Elladan's red one. "So I see," he commented.  
  
"We were, uh, just leaving," Elrohir stammered, grabbing Elladan and pulling him away. "Riding... in the woods... it's pretty this time of year. There should be flowers." The twins fled and left Aragorn calling them both traitors in his head.  
  
"You are crying, pen-neth," Elrond said gently, moving to his son. For such Aragorn would always be, no matter what crazy notion he took in his head. "For what?"  
  
"I am not crying! And I am not a young one! I was trying to tell you that last night and you wouldn't listen to me."  
  
"I know, Estel, and I ask your forgiveness. You had the right to be heard, whatever my personal feelings. If I were to listen to you now, would you still speak?"  
  
Aragorn stared at the gentle face with calculating eyes and clenched fists. He didn't trust this sweetness. Elrond must have been hit on the head and be suffering from memory loss; there was no means by which the elf could change his opinion in one night. "I said what I needed to last night. If you did not listen, it was not my fault."  
  
E;rond squashed an inner sigh and held out his hands helplessly. "Estel, please! I'm trying to be civil! Show me that much respect!" Something softened in the young face so close to his and told him to proceed.  
  
Sitting them both down on the edge of the human's still rumpled bed, Elrond proceeded to explain his shock and chagrin, explain the reasons he hadn't been able to control his temper the night before, to explain subtly that he understood Estel was only suffering from a misplaced feeling of gratitude and filial love.  
  
Aragorn started at that. "Gratitude?" he gasped. Snatching up Elrond's hand, he pressed it to the evidence of his desire for the male sitting so close to him. "Does that feel like gratitude, My Lord of Imladris?" he spat.  
  
Elrond snatched his hand back and gazed helplessly at the burning shame on Aragorn's face. Estel was aroused just by sitting near him and talking? Warning alarms were ringing in the elf's pointed ears. Particularly since the brief contact had produced a look of dreamy contemplation on his son's face. The look, like the night before, resembled a tiger preparing to pounce.  
  
"Estel, don't..."  
  
"Ssh! You believe me now?"  
  
A silent, sympathetic nod with heartbreak in the grey eyes.  
  
"It hurts, Elrond," Aragorn suddenly whispered, leaning closer as if confiding a secret. "It hurts and I ache for your touch, your hand. Even just your eyes! If you were only to look at me with love- from one man to his lover- I would be content. Just... one... look..."  
  
Elrond was startled by a pink tongue swirling over the sensitive creases of his ear just before he pulled away with something like an undignified squeak. Aragorn followed him, his hands capturing the elf's face and pulling him in for a long, deep kiss that left Elrond so torn he couldn't pull away.  
  
"I could make you happy," Aragorn whispered, trailing his lips over the dropped lower jaw, "I could make you feel alive again."  
  
"I am alive," Elrond protested, half-heartedly pushing Aragorn's mouth from his face. It didn't deter the younger man, who simply latched onto his slender middle finger- the longest on his hand- and swallowed it to the hilt.  
  
The Elf Lord gasped and pulled it back, hearing it exit that succulent mouth with an audible pop. Standing quickly, he made for the door. "This is foolishness, Estel. You cannot be in love with me."  
  
"I am, Elrond," Aragorn protested, "Why is it hard for you to see?"  
  
"Because you are my son!" Elrond said clearly, the torment clearly visible in his usually guarded eyes, "You are my son and this- this relationship you propose is beyond disgrace!"  
  
"But I am not your son," Aragorn said pleadingly, "I am but Aragorn, a man who offers you his heart on bended knee. I don't expect for you to love me. All I ask is that you let me love you. If you tired of me I would leave you at your request, but until then let me make you happy."  
  
"Estel, I would that it were that simple. But, child, I have brought you up and in my heart you are my son. Would you have me approach you in twisted need?"  
  
"I would have you approach me anyway you did," Aragorn swore, "I would take the loneliness from your life."  
  
Elrond shook his head sadly. "Forget such foolishness, ion nin. My loneliness is not your concern. I will not approach you and I promise you that what you feel is not love, but the confused feeling of one just newly in his manhood. It will pass. I do not want you unhappy, but you cannot come to me again with such a desire. I cannot satisfy you in that way."  
  
In the sudden emptiness of his room, Aragorn licked his lips and remembered the clean-tasting sweetness of the skin he had tasted, the explosion of overwhelming happiness when he'd kissed Elrond as he'd wanted to do for so long. And for one blissful moment, as he'd sucked on the Elf Lord's finger, Aragorn had seen a flash of dark desire in Elrond's eye.  
  
Slowly dropping to his knees, he slid a hand between his legs and closed his eyes, savouring the few sensory snatches he'd gleaned from this recent visit.


	4. 4

Author's Note: This is remarkably angsty towards the end and really the next chapter is to be read in direct continuation but I am still editing it, so please bear with. Sorry if this one is too long; the next one should be shorter.  
  
Author's Note 2: Thanks in advance for waiting so patiently for me to update, and hope you like it.  
  
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Elrond had, surprisingly enough, slept remarkably deeply following his difficult conversation with Estel. Now, only a short time to first light, he was lying in bed and thinking somewhat optimistically about the entire situation.  
  
True, Estel was a little more sunk in his delusions than he had expected, but Elrond was certain that it could be handled in a mature and diplomatic fashion. After all, had the Elf Lord not put aside his urge to shout and cringe and deny, and dealt with the issue with a little more tact and reason?  
  
The pale fingers of dawn began to creep into his window, trailing delicate patterns on the floor and burnishing the golden wood furniture to a high sheen. Fragrances from the garden wafted gently in with the warming breeze.  
  
The half elf sighed and nodded. Oh yes, today was made to be a new start without fear of worry and trouble.  
  
And yet he did admit to feeling a little melancholy as well. It had been a long time since he'd had a lover and fifty years of abstinence from all sorts of physical pleasures could prove to be tricky. Particularly if Estel intended to repeat his simple but effective seduction of the evening before!  
  
Elrond shivered in remembered appreciation of the warm tongue that had gently slithered against his ear, of the warm lips that had pressed insistently against his own with sweet tenderness and urgent need. He stared down at his hands clenched in the covers of his big but empty bed. Even summer nights could be cold when one slept alone, and the Elf Lord was acutely attuned to his loneliness. Half his unexpected desire to let Estel pleasure him had arisen from the seductive need to wake up beside someone else again.  
  
"Ai, Elbereth, I am getting too old for this," he groaned, burying his head beneath the covers.  
  
"I wouldn't say so," an amused voice remarked.  
  
Elrond shot upright with a gasp, eyes wide in apprehension as Aragorn swung into his bedroom via the window and a convenient tree outside. The youth was dressed simply enough in a loose tunic and leggings, his wiry slimness displayed perfectly with the informal garb. Elrond felt positively indecent sitting half-naked in bed. He keenly felt the breeze on his bare shoulders and chest, having to force his hands not to hike up the thin sheet to cover his unclothed torso.  
  
Aragorn's mischievous eyes twinkled as he shook his head. "Nay, Ada, do not fear my intentions. I will not embarrass you further on that subject." His foster father actually betrayed himself with an audible sigh of relief. "I was out walking,' Aragorn explained, "And I got the sudden urge to climb a tree. So I did."  
  
"Outside my bedroom window?" A dark eyebrow rose in dubious enquiry.  
  
Aragorn laughed quietly at the tentative teasing. "No, my Lord,' he murmured, eyes dancing wickedly as he tried to look demure, "it was another one. But it was near enough that I saw you awake so I came to keep you company. I thought we could talk like we used to."  
  
Suddenly the day brightened again. Estel had admitted his mistake and relinquished his infatuation! Elrond Peredhel could smile happily and hold out a hand to his beloved foster son once more. It had always been a source of great amusement to the household that the child Estel was constantly running in and out of Elrond's rooms at all hours of the day and night. If anyone ever questioned him, the child would fix his wide eyes on the enquirer and say, "We were talking!"  
  
Elrond was the one Aragorn had always run to, from nightmares and homesickness to childhood fears and guilts. If Aragorn had had to confess a little sin to anyone, it had been his foster father or no one. That was just the way it was! And no amount of teasing ever succeeded in the Lord of Imladris' Little Shadow relinquishing his hold.  
  
Aragorn sat down at a decent distance on the edge of the bed and smiled. It was both a sweet and bitter pain to know Elrond trusted him so completely. From what Glorfindel had told him of Isildur's betrayal, Aragorn was sometimes astonished that Elrond could even look at him, let alone accept him as part of the family. And to abuse that unflinching trust was not something Aragorn took lightly. But he was very clear about his reasons- he meant to get his desire at any cost.  
  
Elrond, however, was not quite as gullible as all that. The mere touch of his hand seemed to put a strange glimmer in Aragorn's darkening eyes. A wash of light red stained the young face and the lower lip dropped slightly. The elf dropped his hand. "Are you lying to me?" he asked quietly.  
  
Aragorn snapped out of his haze and looked panicked. He hadn't lied, truly he hadn't! He'd never said he still didn't want to kiss the elder; he'd only ceded not to talk about it. "No," he swore, "Ada, I never would!"  
  
It was no use. Elrond had seen what he had seen, so he shook his head in regret. "We can talk any time you want, Estel. But I must ask you to never come to my bedchamber again unless you have my permission or there is an emergency. I... we cannot keep going through this conversation again."  
  
"What would you have me say, Elrond? I do love you; I haven't lied to you about that. The way I feel won't go with one evening of your rejection. I expect rejection; I am prepared for it. But I also value your company. Please don't make me turn from you because of what I can't help."  
  
Elrond contented himself with morose thoughts. A bird was singing somewhere outside and if it didn't stop sometime soon, a legendary warrior of the First Age would throw something hard and heavy at it.  
  
"Estel, I don't know why you felt the need to lie to me in such a dishonourable manner, but that is no longer the point. For the last time, ion nin, what you ask cannot be! You really must forget such foolish dreams. I value your company, but I must take care not to let idle tongues gossip scandal about us. I certainly would not enjoy it and you are far too young to be the victim of it. I will not have it said that I betrayed the innocent trust of a child in my care."  
  
"No one will say any such thing," Aragorn vowed, protective anger kindling at such a thought, "Melethron, I will kill anyone who dares accuse you."  
  
"You cannot kill everyone in Middle Earth!"  
  
"I will if I must! And in any case I am not a child or an innocent. I come to you of my own free will and ask to be taken."  
  
A quick mental image and the elf shuddered. "No! You know not the cruelty of the world, Estel. You may be a man in years, but there is still much for you to learn."  
  
The two held each other's gaze, one in sympathy and the sorrow, the other in yearning and frustration. Aragorn finally inclined his head stiffly and left Elrond's room. "I will see you at breakfast, Lord Elrond," was all he said, not waiting for an answer as he shut the door behind him.  
  
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In truth, Aragorn was not at breakfast. Nor was he seen for the following two days. Elladan and Elrohir drove their father to distraction with their incessant worrying and speculation. And Arwen went pale and shied into her own mind. She would not speak, her drawn face speaking eloquently of her own sorrows and miseries.  
  
A cloud seemed to hang heavily over the Last Homely House. A contingent of men come from a neighbouring Kingdom on matters of trade mentioned the same to Erestor. Indeed, one went so far as to ask whether there had been a death in the family. The steward had been strongly tempted to reply- "Not bodily; but one of us dies slowly in spirit."  
  
It was on the morning of the fourth day that the storm clouds finally showed themselves- Estel came back home. Riding through the gates with barely a glance for any in his path, he handed his horse to an elf of the stables and made his way indoors, to the door of Elrond's office. So intent was he on admittance, he failed to notice Glorfindel pass into the adjacent room on his own errand.  
  
"My Lord," the human said formally, bowing with a hand to his heart.  
  
Elrond stood up with an exclamation of relief. "Estel! You are returned! By the Valar, but we have been frantic with worry for you. Another day and Elladan and Elrohir would have followed on your trail, cold as it might have been."  
  
Aragorn let a smile ghost over his haggard face. He was thinner and worn, somehow looking aged even while he was still so young. His shoulders slumped and he walked with the stiff gait of a man who had spent too long in the saddle. But his eyes were clear and focused, shining with the inner determination that characterized him.  
  
"Elrond, I would speak with you," he said without preamble.  
  
The beaming regard turned cold and the elf drew back, his grey eyes narrowing. Unconsciously Elrond pulled his robes closer around him, clasping the front with one slender hand as he beckoned to a chair. Wordlessly the two sat, one staring intently and the other keeping blank counsel... and then Elrond nodded slowly.  
  
"I rode into the wilds alone," Aragorn began, leaning forward and clasping his hands on his knees, "I spent time thinking on everything I had ever believed in. It came to me that this situation must be hard for you, and for Elladan and Elrohir who know of my feelings and your loneliness. They want us both happy, but know better than to hope it will be together. And then there is Arwen..."  
  
"What of Arwen?" Elrond questioned sharply, "You know what ails her? Elbereth's stars, but tell me now! She has not spoken for days and each hour sees her sinking further into desolation."  
  
"She loves," the man pointed out, confident as never before, "She loves the way I love. And the one she loves cannot return her love, as she deserves. But this is indeed a tangled web wrapped around us for Arwen is in love with me, and knows I love you."  
  
"Arwen is..." Elrond almost fell out of his chair in shock. Dark lashes blinked several times. Surely such was not possible? Surely not?  
  
"In love with me, yes. But she is willing to give me to you should you so wish it. She desires my happiness and so she tries to mend my way with you. She understands the bitterness and glory, you see, as even you cannot."  
  
Silence was broken only by the faraway murmur of errands and chores, two youths involved in a game of chase and the soothing flow of the river bubbling monotonously under all. Two beings sat encased in a room and thought of revelations never before uttered out loud.  
  
Elrond wanted to turn away, to cover his ears and refuse to listen. He wanted that pretty mouth to close its foul and shameful tale. A perverse love triangle of the most sordid kind! And his gentle Arwen caught in the middle! For an instant he could dispassionately hate the human who divided his family in such a manner.  
  
"You will hate me and I do not care," Aragorn sighed, "I have hated myself for long ere this conversation and doubtless I will hate myself even more when I am done. But here me out: Arwen is not the only discussion I bring to you."  
  
"Speak then; I am listening," Elrond answered grimly. His fingers itched to box the insolent brat's ears, but there was something strangely compelling and sorrowful in this mature confession. Other confessions came to mind- times when an infant was lifted onto his knee and cried a disjointed litany of wrongs both real and imagined, times when a young boy stammered and stuttered in fear of rejection and disavowal, times when an adolescent whispered of things he could not help and had mistakenly chosen. But none compared to this young man seated before him. And Elrond feared what this was portent of.  
  
"I tried to understand why you did not want me..."  
  
Silence again and this time the river seemed to roar in the stillness as Elrond's fingers clenched and Vilya faintly glowed with the unstoppered emotion.  
  
Aragorn heard it, knew full well what dangers lurked with making this Elf Lord lose his immense control and placed his trust in the kind fairness of the one he loved- "You were either not attracted to me, or you loved someone else, or you fear love and do not want to chance with me."  
  
Elrond spluttered in his chagrin. "You, a mortal stripling, dare to call me coward?"  
  
"No!" It was loud enough to satisfy the incensed Lord of Imladris who nodded warningly and sat back down. "Nay, Elrond, I do not call you coward. Indeed I do not think it. But you have been hurt by many who you loved the best on earth and perhaps you will not risk another such wound?"  
  
"I have never in my life run from love!"  
  
"Is it then that you do not desire me?"  
  
Grey eyes flickered upward to the steady gaze, impaled and laid vulnerable in ways Elrond didn't even want to think about. He tortured himself with thinking that Estel could surely see his acceptance of the young man's beauty, of his approval of the tangled softness of his hair and the salt warmth of his skin, of his appreciation of the hard body that beckoned beneath the dust-stained clothes.  
  
Aragorn smiled a bitter smile; such he had guessed and it hurt that Elrond would not think him worthy enough to act on such desire with. "I thought you did," he remarked, "So if I were to come to you when you were weak and wanting, you would not have the strength to push me away from you as you did that night. Which also leads me to imagine that you are not currently in love with someone else. Before you ask- no, I do not know for certain. But you certainly do not behave as one in love. Even if you were in the position of desiring someone who you could not have, I would still want you; to be whatever you saw in your mind, to enact whatever fantasy lurked in your dreams. I do not fear being a replacement lover."  
  
"Enough, Estel," Elrond howled, slamming to his feet and gripping the human's thin forearms in a vice-like grip, "Never let me hear you do that! Ion nin, you place yourself too low and I will never hear you say so again, am I understood?"  
  
Feeling his heart pound with unaccustomed apprehension, Aragorn nodded quickly. Already his arms were bruised, and his back was sore with self- inflicted lashings that he had chosen to bestow on himself. It was a method of reflection sometimes used by the Rangers; a means of reaching a place of crystal thought through the chaos of pain.  
  
Elrond's impassioned face leaned so close over his, his ageless grace and beauty as terrifyingly perilous as an eagle above prey. Heat poured between them as grey eyes darkened to the colour of a stormy tempest. The sun- dappled world of Imladris narrowed to the dizzying heights of Elrond's breath gusting hot ribbons over his face.  
  
Estel opened his mouth, Elrond held his breath waiting for an impetuous kiss, pleading and begging and deploring for it. "Have you been with a man before?" the human asked.  
  
The spell broke; the world came roaring back in and the elf let go with a groan of self-denial. Grey robes swirled around unsteady legs as Elrond made his way back to the other side of the room. "It is not to be spoken of and has no bearing on anything. Why I cannot give you what you want is simply that my love for you as a son outweighs any desire I might feel. I could accept your tempting offer and then condemn us both to pain and heartbreak."  
  
"A night in your arms- with or without my name on your lips and your heart in my hands- is worth ten lifetimes of pain and heartbreak," Aragorn burst out, his own eyes begging his anguish as his new-found maturity struggled with his youth, "Elrond, for all my life have I wanted to be as Elladan and Elrohir, to be immortal as my family is. But I would gladly renounce an immortal life alone in favour for one night with you. I would not ask you for more than your presence and a chaste kiss. But to know you see me as I am... I would die for that and yes, I would damn myself for that!"  
  
Neither heard a very audible thud that echoed from the room next door. No, both were three feet apart and sharing a mingled sorrow and agony that fed from one heart to another until a tidal wave threatened to sweep them away into darkness.  
  
"Estel," Elrond breathed sadly. He had not known how terrible it was until this moment. "Pen-neth, I pity you; oh, how I pity you. If I had know, I would have... Estel, I would give my life to see you happy."  
  
"Then give me one night!"  
  
"It cannot be, ion nin. What you propose is abhorrent. When I am done with you, what would you have me do- take Elladan or Elrohir; bed with Arwen?" He noted the gaping disgust on his youngest child's face, "Yet you ask me for just that."  
  
"I am no fruit of your loins."  
  
"No, but you came to my arms a babe barely weaned from your mother's breast and I held you and bathed you and spent nights soothing your cries. Were your own father alive he would not have done more. I can only give you what a father gives his child and hope it may be some comfort."  
  
Aragorn's strength seemed to give out.  
  
"What then, my Lord?" he questioned tiredly, "What have you to say that will make me feel you understand my pain?"  
  
"To tell you that I have felt the same pain and that I have lived to bear it," Elrond said bitterly, "Long though it seemed like I couldn't." 


	5. 5

Author's Note: Is a direct continuation of the chapter before this.  
  
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"Who was he?" Aragorn demanded, hating the unfortunate already but needing to know.  
  
Elrond sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't want to have this conversation but if it helped...  
  
"Was it Isildur?"  
  
"No! Of course not!" Elrond was very emphatic on that point. Isildur had been a dear friend, nothing more or less, and it was travesty to even think of the man in any other light.  
  
"Then who? Gil-Galad?" Aragorn folded his arms and lounged back to his chair. He sat back and settled in comfortably, patience in every line of his graceful body. Clearly he was prepared to keep guessing until he struck gold. "It wasn't Glorfindel, was it?"  
  
The Elf Lord was fast reaching the fine line between amusement and revulsion. He sat back down as well, pushing the papers to the side on his desk for the moment before turning to face the human's suitably blank expression. A pang echoed in his heart at the mess he was currently in, a sing that only assuaged by the hope that proving his understanding might make Estel give up his ridiculous tenacity.  
  
"No, not Glorfindel," he sighed, "Or Gil-Galad. You will not know the elf, for elf he was, though long forgotten by anyone except myself. His name is not mentioned in song or legend. Even old friends of mine like Glorfindel, who knew of the affair, will be hard pressed to remember him."  
  
The pain was obvious, even while the ageless face seemed perfectly controlled and almost pleasantly conversational. But for the mortal, who had made it his life's work to know every facet of his love, there was a heavy-lidded dreaminess and pale sorrow that corroded the serenity directed towards him.  
  
Elrond was already half caught up in his memories of the past, seeing in his mind's eye the demure mischief and slender hands of his once-lover. "Aureif," he said quietly, "His name was Aureif. If it has a meaning I have yet to learn it. He said he was named by his father combining the names of his mother and uncle. He served Gil-Galad when I met him."  
  
"He was a soldier?" Somehow Aragorn felt that that would be fitting.  
  
"Soldier?" Elrond looked bitterly amused, "He was no soldier. He had some skill with knives, but no real knowledge of war. No, he was a servant in my Lord's household. He helped serve the evening meal on my third day there. I don't remember what we ate but I remember not being able to look away from his face."  
  
Aragorn wanted to scream. Elrond had no right to look so fond of a memory of an elf long lost; Elrond had no right! He bit the inside of his cheek and gave a curt nod, swallowing the bitterness that came with knowing he could never put that look on the Elf Lord's face. "Were you forbidden from each other? Or did he not return your love? What went wrong?"  
  
Grey eyes lost the gentle haze and cleared. Elrond sat up straighter and shook his dark head slightly. "The world went wrong," he said, "Myself included. He returned my love, yes, but we were not ...comfortable together. I was rather young; and loved that such an elf wanted me. He was much admired, you see; and I was still just a Peredhil. But I was insufferable about my pride- made inappropriate gestures to him in public; touched him openly as he went by on his errands; whispered audible endearances in his ear as he served in the dining hall."  
  
Elrond blushed as he remembered those days. He'd been so unbelievably transparent in those days, willing to do anything in his arrogant youth. Aureif had lost patience and goodwill time and again, finally breaking down one night and refusing to come to him again until he stopped. And the raw Half-Elf had not known what to do besides excuse himself from blame and make them both miserable for months afterwards.  
  
"Friends tried talking some sense into me, others merely sneered. Most, however, were well aware that I was carrying on this ridiculous and ill- concealed affair with a servant. Aureif begged me not to embarrass him or compromise his honour, but I was in love and so the whole world had to know. Eventually Gil-Galad released him from his duties and gave me warning of what would happen if I ever betrayed his trust."  
  
"I cannot believe it was necessary for such a one as you, Elrond," Aragorn smiled quietly. He simply could not picture his love as such a brash personage, not with the quiet dignity and reserve he now hid behind. But then, the man thought wistfully, one changes with passion.  
  
"Believe it, Estel, it is only the truth," Elrond replied, a wry smile flickering for an instant, "But things worked for a while. We did not bond, but he worked alongside me, as my attendant. Ah, Estel, if ever love was made of purity it was with him. Every look and touch and word spoke of it, even when... but I'm sorry, I had forgotten."  
  
The young man turned his head and stared doggedly out the window. He'd known this pain would come; Elrond had warned him not to ask. And yet if his love had once known the best of happiness and completion, who was he not to rejoice in it? Even while Arwen was willing to do the same for him?  
  
The Lord of Imladris looked at the obvious misery in discomfort and sympathy. He hadn't meant to rip at raw wounds, but Estel needed to see the difference between being loved and being used, and should the elf take him now it would be only to use him. Even the love they shared would not survive the shock of bedding him. Love was pure and Elrond was truly sorry that Estel believed he had found it with one who could not return it.  
  
He cleared his throat and clasped his hands in his lap to stop them reaching out to his youngest son as he wanted to do. "I understand that hearing what I have to say hurts, Estel," he resumed gently, "The Valar know I would have felt much the same if Aureif had been unable to love me as I did him. But I need you to understand that to hope for something I cannot give you is unfair to the both of us. I love you, Estel, but only as a son. Aureif was the only man I ever gave my heart to and I have never had the urge to do so with another. Had he lived, I would have bound myself to him."  
  
Aragorn's head snapped up, an odd arrested look in his eyes both at the information and at the almost hissing anger that unconsciously coloured the words. The sight of the normally serene Elf Lord flashing fury was rather alarming, all things considered. "He- he died?"  
  
"Yes." The admission was curt, short and to the point. But given almost roughly as a tense body uncoiled to its feet and rapidly strode to the window to draw in deep gasps of clean air as if it were an antidote for some kind of poison. "The wars began and I was needed at my Lord's side. Gil-Galad warned me that a battlefield was no place for lovers, but Aureif wanted to follow me and I could not refuse. The love you feel now, I felt then- if I had to die I would do so, but knowing I was coming from or going to a lover's embrace. Then we were ambushed on a march and he died with a sword in his throat. I almost lost myself to hate; but if ever there was a reason for me to despise Sauron and reject the power he offered, it was knowing that he was the monster responsible for the death of my innocent. It is ironic, is it not, that it took my first love's death to make me a hero?"  
  
The words trailed into a whisper as the dark head bowed. Somehow, the slender figure that seemed so substantial and invulnerable in its rich robes and strong physique, suddenly seemed in danger of collapsing into itself, as if it were too fragile for even the gentle breezes that blew the dark hair on hunched shoulders.  
  
"Is that why you cannot love me? Because you still love him even in his death?"  
  
"No, Estel. I cannot love you because the love you want is one I cannot give you. I cannot force myself to love you as a man because you are my son. Yes, I am aware of your attractions, but physical response does not require an emotional one; you deserve better than that and I will not hurt you with false promises."  
  
Aragorn shook his head impatiently. "That does not answer my question, Elrond- are you still in love with Aureif?"  
  
Deep grey eyes with wise compassion and passionate sympathy turned to him. "Yes. But it is an old love, one that I treasure with jealous memory but does not stop me from loving another. I did love Celebrian just as much, after all, though that love cooled long before disaster struck. I cannot come to you because I do not see you like that. Why can you not accept that, ion nin?"  
  
The human was hurting, deeply and intensely. Even the very rays of sunlight seemed to burn more pain into his skin. "How many times must I say it- I am not your son!"  
  
"Yes, you are!" Elrond was also nearing the end of his patience. Speaking of private matters of the heart was not an easy task for him, especially of Aureif and with Estel. "In my heart you are my son. I have fed you, cared for you, nursed your scraped knee. I told you stories and dried your tears. I scolded you and taught you right from wrong."  
  
"And the arms that held me as I went to sleep were yours," Aragorn said quietly, "You are my world. You completed me, even as a child. And as I grew, so did my love. When my dreams began to grow heated with age, it was your face I saw. Not some insipid maid with a pretty face, but the person who carried the other half of my soul. Melethron, to know I leave the other part of my soul hurts me."  
  
The human visibly flinched in yearning need as he stepped back, away from that which he had desperately wanted for most of his life. Both foster father and foster son no longer knew each other. Elrond had confessed to his youth's weakness; Aragorn had confessed to his adult's desires. A floorboard creaked and neither noticed it. The door opened and then Aragorn was gone, running lightly through the hallways with all the swiftness of sorrow in his feet.  
  
Elrond broke out of whatever spell held him captive and cursed, volubly and at length, the empty garden spread before his unseeing gaze, the elvish swear words running fluidly off his tongue. He was well aware of his fingers closing on the balcony railings and of the sun shining blindingly into his eyes. He was aware that the afternoon beckoned sleepily to those who wished to hide in shade and bathing pools from the heat. He was not, however, aware of a knowing pair of bright blue eyes that regarded him from the balcony of the adjoining room.  
  
"My Lord, perhaps such language is best left to the privacy of your thoughts," Glorfindel finally called, saluting sheepishly as terrifyingly dark grey eyes flashed to his person.  
  
"Glorfindel!"  
  
He bowed.  
  
Elrond's eyes narrowed. "How long have you been there?" he demanded harshly, getting an irresistible urge to feel a sword in his hand once more. He decided it would be even better if he could use said sword to cut off the eavesdropping ears of blond seneschals who insisted on listening to conversations that were none of their business.  
  
Glorfindel came around to answer the question, leaving the balcony only to enter hesitantly in the doorway of the study. He shivered under than deadly gaze, more because he would hate to have to kill a good friend even in self- defence. "I heard all of it," he admitted openly.  
  
The stare lessened somewhat at the honest reply. In truth, the anger and frustration was fast draining from Elrond's blood, leaving nothing more than confusion and tiredness in its place. The half-elf nodded slowly and waved him in.  
  
"Then you know," he whispered, his hands loose at his side and his eyes closing briefly. When they opened again, the last remaining traces of passion were gone, leaving helplessness in its place. "Glorfindel, as a friend I must ask you a question. If you would rather not answer I would accept your reluctance and excuse you, but... what am I to do?"  
  
The blond raised an astonished eyebrow. The Lord of Rivendell was actually asking for help? It was more serious than he had guessed. He cleared his throat and thought hard. "If Estel is really in love with you," he began carefully, studiously avoiding eye contact, "then you need to ascertain how you feel for him. Do you, for instance, return his feelings?"  
  
"No," Elrond answered immediately, a trifle shocked that one who knew him so well had to ask, "You heard me speak to him and I would not lie to him, no matter what the consequences."  
  
"I thought not," Glorfindel agreed, "Have you made that clear?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Glorfindel shook his head regretfully. "I hate to disagree with you, Elrond, but from what I did hear, you did not tell him once and for all that this madness had to stop. You were only sparing his feelings- that I know- but if you are not firm now, it will only cause more damage later."  
  
"What more can I say to make it clear?"  
  
Blue eyes met grey eyes in an expressive glance. "I think you know what must be done, Elrond," Glorfindel sighed, "You yourself suffered separation from Aureif on Gil-Galad's orders. Estel must be sent away."  
  
"And what if that doesn't work? Elbereth knows, it did not stop the love between Aureif and myself from growing."  
  
"If Estel's love is true, it won't stop his either. But don't you think it would be kinder in that case to keep him away from you? And perhaps, instead, he will see more of the world and find his 'love' was mere infatuation. In which case he can come home when he is ready and all will be forgotten."  
  
Elrond nodded, numbed by the contemplation of such a drastic action. He knew now why he'd felt the foreboding at the start of the whole conversation. In his heart he had always known he would one day lose his Estel, his beloved youngest child. But he had thought it would be to destiny or death; he had simply not envisioned it would turn out like this! A heavy hand lent reassuring weight to his shoulder for a moment.  
  
"It is not the end of your life, Elrond. Estel came always have a home here. But staying in a place that is the embodiment of your work and dreams and spirit would be unmitigated torment. He would go mad from grief and likely run away on his own accord. With this, he goes with your blessing, still the loved son of Elrond Peredhil, and not the self-betraying immoral lover of his own father. Do what is right, my Lord... for both your sake and Estel's." 


	6. 6

Author's Note: This is plodding really heavily, so the series will most probably wrap itself up in the next chapter.  
  
Author's Note 2: Set 6 ½ years after Estel is made to leave Imladris. This is his return. Therefore the period inbetween in when he goes into the wilds and joins the Rangers of the North and does all those covert name-changing operations.  
  
----------------------------------------------  
  
The morning was marvellous- a rising wave of spring and sunlight. To Glorfindel, such mornings were the everyday glory of Imladris and should, as such, be treasured.  
  
But not this morning.  
  
No, this morning was not to be treasured at all and the entire household had tiptoed around corners and whispered fearfully in private rooms concerning this morning. And it was with small wonder, the gloomy Balrog Slayer decided. After all, it was not every day that the morning dawned in Imladris with the impending arrival of its Lord's youngest son. And Estel was expected before the sun reached its midday peak.  
  
Breakfast had been so quiet in Elrond's house as to be almost non-existent. Arwen had spent the last two weeks looking anguished and hopeful. Elladan and Elrohir had met their brother in the wilds frequently enough in the six and a half years since his departure but were wary nonetheless. Glorfindel himself found his mind dwelling on possible consequences with alarming constancy.  
  
By contrast, Glorfindel noted, Elrond had seemed serene, going about his business with his typical attentiveness as if nothing was wrong. It was as if the Elf Lord did not remember the disturbing events that had split his family in the first place! And yet the blond seneschal knew better than to believe that.  
  
"Ai, mellon nin," he sighed to himself, watching his friend meander out into the forest as if in search of something, a book tucked securely under one arm, "You cannot fool an old friend. And I am old enough to know you do feel this."  
  
Whatever Elrond's thoughts on the matter of diverting the attentions of his friends, he deemed he was being fairly discreet. Certainly his children were none the wiser, though their glances had been reaching more and more suspicious levels as the day approached. Whether Glorfindel knew or Erestor guessed he was less concerned with.  
  
He smiled slightly as he felt the regard of worried blue eyes burn into his back. So Glorfindel still watched! He deliberately slowed his steps and made his gait light, strolling with the semblance of an untroubled spirit, ignoring the insecurities in his head and heart for when he was alone. He gripped the book tighter, feeling it as a lifeline to another life, a life in which everything had been perfect and a little boy had once sat in his lap and laughed with delight at the fascinating drawings.  
  
The sun climbed steadily and still Estel had not arrived. Elladan had made his way to the stables with Elrohir to consult about the possible injury to the foreleg of his horse. Elves of various statures went fleetly about their tasks and even Glorfindel had relinquished his anxious post near the front entranceway to attend to the accounts that Elrond had left in his charge. Arwen alone sat watch in a window and counted the minutes by on her fingers.  
  
No horse approached the house. No messenger arrived to present apologies and explanations for the delay. And last but certainly not least, no dust- grimed Ranger arrived to tell sorrowfully of Estel's ultimate inability to return. All this and more fostered hope in the elf-maiden's eyes.  
  
And so it was, that when Aragorn led his horse on foot to the entranceway of the Last Homely House, his watchful eyes espied only Arwen's excited grey ones rising to meet his. And her lovely mouth slid into the beginnings of a glorious smile as she flew to her feet and out to his arms, clasping her arms around his neck with a happy cry of welcome.  
  
Aragorn was almost of the opinion that it was a dream; such loveliness was not to be tolerated unprotected and unrevered on Middle Earth. Tentatively he felt his own mouth curve at the ends, unsure really of whether it was a smile because he had not done so for long months at a time. He dropped the reins as Glorfindel came down to meet him, his eyes devouring even that elf's majesty as the reality of home crashed in. Almost as an afterthought, he heard the yell from his twin older brothers as they arrived to welcome him back.  
  
Home... home as he had never thought to return to it!  
  
"You look tired," Elladan accused, "Do not tell me that you found orcs even within our borders?"  
  
"And what impertinence," Elrohir neatly interjected, hands on his hips, "To send word asking for formal permission to enter Imladris!"  
  
Aragorn's mouth twisted at the corner as he offered a wry look. "I was not sure of my welcome," he said simply, turning to pull something from his pack, "Imladris is no longer my home as you well know."  
  
"Nay, pen-neth," Glorfindel said gently, "you have a home here, and you always will while any of us yet remain to bid you welcome. We did not send you away with rejection."  
  
"I know, Glorfindel," the man answered quietly, offering a glance of understanding, "I did believe that... even then. And it is good to return to my family once more." But he didn't want to think of that. For six long years he had travelled and agonized over the reason for his banishment and it had come down to this- he could not let this ruin his family. Even if Elrond wanted nothing more to do with him, Aragorn would keep this at all costs, if only for hope's sake. " For you, Arwen, a present from a kingdom far to the east. I saw it and thought how well it would look on you."  
  
"Why thank you, kind Ranger," Arwen teased in kind, even dropping a small bow as she accepted the small box, "Well, this is exciting." She opened the box and gasped at the intricately worked scarf. Small stars of silver thread were worked into the light material, glittering with interweaving golden flakes. "Estel! This is truly beautiful!"  
  
He raised her chin to meet her eyes with his. "But you are by far more fair," he promised, "I have missed you, Arwen. We must talk soon; I have much to tell you about the places I have seen. They are all so fascinating you will not believe a word I say."  
  
"I do not believe you already," Elrohir teased, his eyes shining as he clasped his brother's wrist, "You always did like to embellish your tales with fiction."  
  
"Ah, but this time there is no room for fiction," Aragorn retorted easily, "The fiction could be no more astonishing than the truth."  
  
The older elf stood back and watched the four chatter together, the weary horse shifting beneath its load by Aragorn's side. Glorfindel let his eyes roam over the returning man, seeing the last traces of softness burnt away with the harshness of the past years. The hair on his face proclaimed his age and also his recent concern with matters not directly dealing with his wellbeing. The elvish warrior could only guess at the worries those shoulders had borne, or of the things those eyes had seen.  
  
And finally the moment came- Elrond emerged silently from the forest and watched the scene from the other side.  
  
Glorfindel let his inner voice call a triumphant yell; he had been right to doubt his friend's seeming unconcern. If Elrond's current fixed stare was anything to go by, there would be trouble before two days were up. He also made a mental note to go to the forest later and find the book his Lord seemed to have left behind.  
  
"Estel," he called quietly, hoping to prepare the boy- no, man- for the coming confrontation. There was a newfound maturity that lurked in the hollows of that worn face, but Glorfindel did not know just how far that dignity had spread. Enquiring eyes looked to him. "You had better come in and rest. And wash! You do not look as if you have been in civilized places for quite some time."  
  
The man laughed and shook his head. "I have not, my good Glorfindel. Am I that dirty?"  
  
"Yes," Elladan muttered, wrinkling his nose as he and Elrohir divided Estel's remaining possessions between them. "Honestly, Estel, did you not find a river or pond on your travels?"  
  
The man stiffened and for an instant Arwen feared he was offended. But Aragorn had other things on his mind, things he'd wanted to say and felt he should say before another moment had passed. But the look in those grey eyes, so like those he saw in his less horrific dreams, stilled him. Offering a small smile he shook his head again and made some vague remark in reply as he followed his adopted siblings indoors.  
  
Glorfindel waited for Elrond to walk the short distance to his side before letting his eyes sharpen to an intensely blue stare. Grey eyes met his fearlessly. "You saw him, Elrond. What is your opinion?"  
  
"Estel has not returned," the elf sighed heavily, more sorrow stabbing into his soul than he cared to admit to, "Nor do I believe he is ever likely to."  
  
A blond eyebrow rose. "Not Estel?" Glorfindel questioned, "And exactly who do you say that mortal is, then?"  
  
"It is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur," Elrond answered with rare irony, "And I expect dinner will be a very interesting meal, all things considered."  
  
------------------------------------------------------  
  
However, dinner was not as interesting as might have been expected. Elrond was called away to the Healing Wing and Aragorn excused himself before that elf's return on the grounds of exhaustion. That left four elves to look to each other and shrug helplessly.  
  
But again, the night did not end as planned.  
  
Elrond found his foster son strolling aimlessly amidst the blossoms of spring by the light of the moon, eyes closed as he relearned the exact distances and corners of the Elf Lord's private gardens. The dark whispers of the night seemed to highlight the peculiarities of this meeting and so Elrond made to leave.  
  
Aragorn stiffened as he sensed the presence to his left and he turned sharply to face it, dropping into a defensive stance through long habit. "Elrond."  
  
The Lord of Imladris nodded and turned to stay. "Aragorn." For a moment they both held still, eyes searching the other for confirmation of their separate fears. Then Elrond cleared his throat and gestured to the human to walk with him. "I am sorry I missed your return," he said carefully.  
  
Aragorn shrugged. In truth, he had expected nothing less. "You have duties that needed to be addressed," he murmured, "I understand that better than you would imagine. But you did miss the evening meal. Have you eaten?"  
  
"I have. Did you imagine Erestor would let me forgo a meal without good reason?"  
  
The touch of humour brought an answering smile to Aragorn's lips and for a moment- just one- they were father and son sharing a gentle joke together again. But then the moment passed and with it Elrond realized afresh that this was no member of his family walking beside him, but a man who had his own destiny and his own thoughts.  
  
"You are strangely silent, Aragorn," the elf said quietly, "Tell me of your travels."  
  
It was almost a physical reaction, so fast did Aragorn shut down his emotions at the mere mention of his six years away from Imladris. "They happened. That is all." No, he thought desolately, he did not want to talk of those years. Or of the horrors and fears he had felt and seen.  
  
"Aragorn..."  
  
"You do not call me Estel?" Aragorn asked bitterly, "Am I no longer a beacon of hope? Or am I just another mortal like every other you have met? Not only do you throw me from my home, but you must take away my solace as well! You are cruel, melethron."  
  
"I take nothing from you, but..."  
  
"It is my first night; I walk in these gardens where the invisible reach of your hand caresses my face and my thoughts, and I try to steel myself to meet you on the morrow. I promise myself that you will never know what I endure. I tell myself that you will find in me nothing but respect and friendship. But in one night your tongue rips my very soul out of me!"  
  
"Ion nin, hush!"  
  
Elrond was stunned. Clearly something was wrong with Aragorn, because the man was standing rigid as a steel pillar, the cords in his hands and neck clearly defined in the starlight as his pale face betrayed the pain he still felt. It wasn't over! It hadn't worked! And Aragorn was as lost to him as Estel was, apparently.  
  
"I. Am. Not. Your. Son." The words were bitten out in harshness. The finer passions of need and soft offering had obviously disappeared with the enthusiasm of youth. "You did not believe me then; believe me now- I am no longer a son of yours. I thank you for the care you have taken of me in my youth and as a man of honour I pledge myself to repay your efforts in any way I can. But as Aragorn- and Estel- I will no longer accept you as my father. Do you still scorn me?"  
  
Elrond was torn. Aragorn had come back more beautiful than when he had left. Elves were susceptible to beauty of all types, revelling in physical perfection but admiring of the spiritual as well. Behind the man's messy, tiredly bedraggled appearance, the Elf Lord was well aware that a handsome man not yet in the prime of life still remained; the passion and dignity that radiated from him was more tempting by far. It called to his barriers in ways he could not begin to describe. But even if he could live through the sacrilege of taking a man who had formerly been his adopted son, Elrond would not put his Arwen through such pain. He shook his head.  
  
"I thought not," Aragorn sighed. With an absent hand he raked the hair out of his eyes. "If you will forgive me, Lord Elrond, I will retire for the night. I am tired from my journey."  
  
"Good night, Aragorn," Elrond said simply.  
  
The man bowed slightly to the elf and left, still light and swift on his feet in spite of his evident exhaustion. Troubled grey eyes watched him go, an odd longing for what might have been still glowing softly in their depths. But Elrond knew better than to trust his need for companionship. Aragorn was neither Aureif nor Celebrian; he would not make the mistake of loving the man enough to take such a chance.


	7. 7

Author's Note: Just before Bilbo leaves the Shire and probably a year or so before the start of The Lord of the Rings.

Author's Note 2: Final chapter.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You do not know what you ask of me!"  
  
Aragorn raised a hand to his eyes and sighed. Even if he wasn't tired and worried by the political events of the outer world, it seemed conversations with the Lord of Imladris always centred on that particular sentiment- 'you ask for what I can't give'.  
  
"Arwen is a free spirit and will make her own choices," Aragorn refuted quietly.  
  
Far from being quiet, Elrond had been storming up and down his study since the man had broached this subject, his grey eyes so clouded with anger than Aragorn had fleetingly been afraid that the elf would actually hit him. Indeed, if the look of those clenched fists were anything to go by, he was certain the elf was only restraining himself with difficulty.  
  
"Arwen is my daughter and I refuse to countenance such a match," Elrond ground out. The flat of his hand connected with his desk with a startling crash, sending the bottle of ink swishing precariously over the polished brown surface. "For the love of Elbereth, have you no decency left in you? Have the years spent carrying out Gandalf's nonsensical plans given you permanent insanity? What you propose will kill her!"  
  
"I propose nothing," Aragorn snapped, letting his own irritation show for the first time during the interview, "I shared my heart with her. I promised her love and dared hope for no more even while she dwelled in Middle Earth. It was her decision to give up her immortality to live with me in a formal binding. Do not place this on my shoulders, Lord Elrond! It does not rest there easily and you well know it!"  
  
Elrond let out a groan of frustration and dropped into a chair, his hands over his face as the agony ripped into him. Already he knew that Arwen would carry this out. In his heart he knew that none of this was the fault of the mortal. But his heart cried out for the death of his only daughter and could not but blame Aragorn for encouraging her foolish fancies.  
  
"Lord Elrond, I know how you must feel," Aragorn soothed, feeling his own heart twist, "And if there were a way for me to persuade her otherwise I would act it. I would give my life to save Arwen from one more moment of harm or hurt than is necessary. But she loves me and if she will put her heart in my keeping, then I can only promise to do all I can to make her as happy as she deserves."  
  
"Do not speak to me of promises," Elrond said brokenly, "You have no honour and therefore can make no promises."  
  
Aragorn flinched but took the hit quietly. "I have honour, my Lord; you well know that."  
  
"Then how could you let her do this?" Elrond burst out, his head coming up to present burning eyes filled with hatred to his sympathetic audience, "Do you mean to tell me that you are here without her permission or knowledge?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
They sat and stared at each other for a few minutes, bolstering their strength to proceed further. Elrond took a deep breath and moved his chair nearer to the window so as to gain the serenity from nature that was the innate ability of most elves. He would not raise his eyes to meet Aragorn's as he bowed his head in thought.  
  
Aragorn, for his part, was holding himself back almost physically from reaching out to the stricken Lord of Imladris. Too long and many decades had passed since they had mutually adopted an uneasy truce: Elrond accepted that Estel was gone and Aragorn was not his son, and Aragorn accepted that Elrond did not want to cause Arwen pain by entering a relationship- no matter how brief or shallow- with the man she was helplessly in love with.  
  
That did not, however, stop his soul from soaring the moment he felt the first tentative touch of his love's presence as he rode into Imladris, or from letting his gaze rest on him for just one moment longer than was necessary as they sat at the same table. He could not help himself wanting to pull the robe-draped figure close and run his hands over the hidden hardness of the body beneath, or breathe the scent of the dark hair that flowed so prettily over broad shoulders. And Aragorn had long lived with the fact that his feelings were the truest, purest form of love that was possible... and were not returned in the least.  
  
"Arwen is old enough," he began slowly, leaning forward, "And her decision is to come to me. I would that she did not wish it so, but she does. And I cannot deny her."  
  
"You must," Elrond snapped, fretting at the visions in his head. He had seen what his own brother went through; he would not let his daughter go through the same. "You must deny her or she will die. I have seen it, Aragorn, and I will not let her die a lingering death from grief at your passing."  
  
Aragorn paled, but held his ground. "What if such a path was her choice? Would you deny her that choice?"  
  
"Yes! I would deny her that choice because she belongs with her people in eternity, not with thoughtless mortals who would kill her outright if they could."  
  
That such was an insult to the man sitting before him, the Lord of Imladris well knew. That Aragorn was uneasy was also fairly obvious to one who had seen him grow. What Elrond could not understand, was why the man was suddenly ready to bind with Arwen. Granted his daughter was in love and Aragorn was sympathetic to her cause, but he had also seen the glances and the sighs, well hidden though they were to the rest of the world. And that left him with one explanation:  
  
"Arwen is my daughter. Do you desire her because of that?"  
  
Aragorn considered the question, closing his eyes briefly at the sharp pang that shot through him at the veiled eluding to the tension between them. "Yes," he admitted, a slight flush of red staining his cheeks, "She is the one the most like you and I desire that in her. But that is just a part of it. Arwen is beauty and charm and wisdom and I desire that too. Besides, she came to me expressly knowing that my feelings for her father still hold. It was Arwen who argued that she would gift me with a small piece of you through her own body. Her exact words were- "I will not listen to the name you cry out in the darkness but be glad I could let you conjure his face"."  
  
The Elf Lord stiffened, a spasm of disgust passing over his face. Unbidden an image of Aragorn and his daughter came to mind. An innocent enough memory, all things considered, from a walk taken at midnight during Aragorn's first return from exile. The two had been wrapped in each other, talking so low that even elven ears could not hear the words, and Elrond had left with the feeling that he had intruded on something sacred and private.  
  
"Elrond?"  
  
"You make her happy?"  
  
"I try to. Elbereth forgive me, but I try to."  
  
Elrond couldn't resist a wry grin at the very elvish oath, but shook his head, holding out a slender hand to the man who sat before him. It was accepted with hesitation, the strange glow entering blue eyes with the touch as it always did. "And you have not cried out another's name when you are with her?"  
  
Aragorn flushed and made to let go of the hand but felt the fingers tighten. Damn Elrond, but he knew how to ensure Aragorn's senses would depart and render him unable to lie. And as it was the mortal never lied to this dark-haired Elf Lord. "I have not been with her," he declared hotly, "Not in that way! Do you really believe me lost to honour or are you simply insulting me?"  
  
"I do not insult you; I want my daughter happy."  
  
The warm physical connection of intertwined fingers seemed to grow, until Aragorn could feel it suffuse his entire body. It would be easy, he knew, to pull Elrond closer and kiss that mouth. He would have one blissful moment before Elrond pulled away in dread, with the entire situation resurrected again. And Arwen would be hurt- something he would never do.  
  
"If I were to let you take me," Aragorn froze as Elrond's voice continued in its warm softness, "fully, you understand, would that allow you to leave Arwen be?"  
  
"If you were to let me take you, I would know you to be lying. I do not want a lover who will lie back and simply accept everything I do. I would ask you to take me, to help me pleasure us both, to lie with me even if it is at opposite sides of the bed and in the morning walk out of the bedchamber with me without fear and embarrassment. I ask for nothing less if you are to be my lover."  
  
The fingers tightened. Callouses scraped callouses, hard palms slid against hard palms until not even a ray of light could be seen between them. "I cannot be your lover. And neither can Arwen."  
  
"Then you condemn all three of us to sorrow instantly. You say Arwen will die if I bind with her. I say she will die if I don't; and with your strictures she will die unfulfilled and in regret."  
  
The sounds of outdoors made its presence felt. Elrond remembered Mithrandir was somewhere in the house and waiting to speak with him about Hobbits and the growing darkness in Mordor. Missives lay on his desk from Mirkwood about the creature called Gollum. A letter from Galadriel lay amongst them, talking of the end of the Third Age and the need to send as many of their people to Valinor as was possible. Mundane duties like household accounts were still awaiting his attention and a deputation of men occupied the guest wing as their ill were tended in the Healing Rooms. And here he was, closeted for an entire morning with such a petty business as this!  
  
"You do not have my permission to bind," he said finally, releasing Aragorn and walking to the door, "I cannot give it until the evil that beats on our doors is eradicated. You, Aragorn, will play a large part in the battles ahead and I will not let you take Arwen into danger. After it is over, you may approach me again with this question."  
  
"Then you refuse your daughter happiness," Aragorn said bitterly, stalking to the door and exiting, "And she will not thank you for it!"  
  
"She will thank me for nothing, whatever the decision I make, whether it is in Valinor or at your deathbed. But I will not refuse her happiness- I forbid you both from binding, but not from sharing whatever comforts you need."  
  
Blue eyes and grey held each other's gaze, one pleading love and the other pleading peace. Finally Elrond turned and went back to his work: "Aragorn, if you meet Mithrandir on your way, send him in."


	8. 8

Author's Note: I couldn't resist. I envisioned this happened, but it felt so wrong to play with the LOTR universe like leggo blocks. Anyway, hope this ending is okay. But watch out- if people like this then I have ideas for an entire sequel to this fic!  
  
Author's Note2: Set in Gondor, the day before Aragorn is crowned King.  
  
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Aragorn knew that the party from Imladris had arrived. He had managed to meet the twins and Glorfindel before Faramir had snuck up behind him with that reproachfully discreet cough that made him ask his greetings be conveyed to the rest of the elvish congress.  
  
So no, he had not seen the person he had wanted to meet the most. And what was more, Elrond seemed be deliberately avoiding him!  
  
Legolas was even now refusing to listen to another word that Aragorn said on the subject. As he put it- "After everything you've told me of your feelings while we journeyed here, it will be a wonder if I can ever look Lord Elrond in the face again without blushing." So Aragorn had finally pitied his friend and stopped cornering him in private spots.  
  
Which left him no one else to talk to about his cares. Gandalf knew already, that was true, but the last time Aragorn had tried to seek the wizard's advise, the discussion had ended with him undertaking another dangerous mission. The hobbits were no help at all; likely they would simply be scandalized and refuse to listen. Faramir... no, the man was run off his feet and grieving into the bargain.  
  
"So be it," he sighed, staring out the window as one of his new advisors talked about the importance of proving Gondor's magnificence in the upcoming celebrations. So intent was he on his thoughts that he didn't pay any attention to the knock on his door. Or hear Verthor's abrupt silence, nor yet Faramir's quiet words of welcome. No, his eyes were caught by the sudden appearance of two well-known figures down in the courtyard. Elladan and Elrohir were not aware of his regard, too busy enchanting three young serving girls to look up to his window.  
  
"Estel?"  
  
That, Aragorn did hear. He spun, ashen and startled into betraying his surprise. What was Glorfindel doing... and that was where his brain stopped altogether. For the blond Vanya elf was only doing what he always did- stand at the right hand of his Lord.  
  
"Aragorn, it is good to see you again in such auspicious times," Elrond said meekly, not quite looking the man in the eye.  
  
Faramir looked from one to the other and realized he was intruding. "If you will excuse us," he murmured, grabbing Verthor by the arm and dragging him to the door. Verthor shut his mouth with a snap as Glorfindel stared coolly at him.  
  
Elrond's grey eyes flicked to the retreating steward and he stopped him and handed over a small vial that he drew from his pocket. "Faramir, I meant to give this to you last evening. Take it before you take your night's repose and you will find proper rest. Without dreams, I believe."  
  
Faramir thanked the Elf Lord and fled, leaving three alone in the room. Glorfindel melted into a corner and propped a shoulder against the wall, confident neither would notice him now. He did not want to interfere, but Elrond had insisted he attend.  
  
"You will be King," Elrond began awkwardly.  
  
Aragorn inclined his head in cold agreement, his blood running like fire in freezing veins. "Your duty is done," he said harshly, "I will be King of Gondor and my heritage is intact. Your brother's descendants rule once more. You have nothing more to care for here."  
  
"It was not for duty and you know that!"  
  
"Then what, my Lord? Dare I hope it was love?" the man scoffed openly, forgetting himself so far as to lose his tight control, the side of him no one else but Elrond ever saw. Even Arwen was never shown this youthfully passionate side of him.  
  
Elrond would not say anything to do with that; he could not. Arwen was hiding in his room, intent on surprising Aragorn with her father's unexpectedly sudden acquisition to their match. His change of heart was not explained; Arwen had resigned herself to simply enjoying the gift given her. And so Elrond had ensured he would not give in to temptation.  
  
"Whatever you may wish to believe," the Elf Lord answered carefully, "I have always cared for you. I merely wished to tell you that. And now I will leave you in peace. Accept my apologies for interrupting your work."  
  
Glorfindel pulled himself off the wall and shot a sympathetic look to Aragorn. He knew this fit of Elrond's, had once seen something like it in bygone days. Ah yes, days when a reed-slim, dark-haired elf had never strayed far from Elrond's side. And the rashness of love was something that never ran smoothly with his old friend. He could only guess at Aragorn's frustrations.  
  
"Elrond!"  
  
The Elf Lord considered ignoring that perturbed voice. But he turned, unable to deny this man anything.  
  
"Was that time in Rohan in vain?" Aragorn asked, needing to know so desperately that his gut was clenched in anticipation, "Those kisses- were they false? The touches?"  
  
"I was not thinking," Elrond pleaded, holding a hand out to Aragorn, "I did not know what I was doing. Arwen was dying..."  
  
And Glorfindel was tired! He suppressed a groan and stuck his nose in where he had sworn not to for the past fifty years- "And so were you! Vilya was taking its toll on your body and mind and you expended precious energy insisting that you were capable of handling business as usual! Your horse carried you back into Imladris unconscious, mellon nin; even your consciousness was clouded with the ravings of fever! I believe Estel deserves to know that too, do you not think?"  
  
Aragorn gasped, feeling some thread of control inside him snap as the all- too vivid images crowded his mind. He had almost lost the one being he loved the most in his life and no matter what promise he had once made to a fair elf-maiden, it ripped at the very depths of his soul that, had circumstances differed, Glorfindel would stand there alone and tell him of death!  
  
Elrond found himself grasped and slammed against a wall, a very angry human only inches away from him as battle-scarred fingers pinned him in place.  
  
"You fool," Aragorn spat, "How dared you! What gave you the right to gamble with your life?"  
  
"Tis my life," Elrond protested, "And Arwen lay dying! She needs you, melme, more than I ever will."  
  
"Melme... you call me that now, as you did in a tent surrounded by warriors, men who would look down on you for mortals do not hold with the male lovers of males as elves do. But you kissed me that night." Aragorn had completely forgotten that Glorfindel was still behind him, or that the door was open and any passing were capable of hearing. "Would you do so again?"  
  
"No!" The answer was emphatic. "Arwen..."  
  
"Is not here," Aragorn finished, a predatory smile on his handsome face, "And you would not have given your permission for us to wed in any case. Every night I stood at her elbow, I loved her and promised to keep her happy. But you... I would fight and break and die for you, and you still insist on refusing me a kiss? I crown myself King for you and you would deny me?"  
  
Elrond shut his eyes in despair. Lips- soft, warm, and oh so wanted- brushed the cloth on his shoulder. He shivered in response and opened his eyes. But it was not to Aragorn that he looked but to Glorfindel still standing behind them, a curiously blank look on his face.  
  
Grey eyes begged for intervention, for the strength that he no longer had to pull away from what he desired most. And all Glorfindel needed to do was obey his Lord's pleas and pull the two apart. Dispassionately he watched Aragorn trail his lips up a taut neck, watched Elrond move his head to allow for more contact even as he moaned a protest. And the Vanyan made his choice- he left.  
  
"You need this, mellon nin," were his parting words, "I cannot make your choices for you."  
  
Elrond let out a cry as the door closed and Aragorn's triumph washed over his senses. The sound was muffled by the hard brutality of a mouth that claimed his own in a way none had for so long that it burned him from the hairs on his head to the soles of his feet. He shrank back as long as he could, letting the man kiss him as fiercely as he needed, hoping lack of response would stifle the fires. But as seconds crawled by, he kissed back, hands rising from pushing against a hard chest to clutching at strong shoulders. Heat and light and need and nothing in the world had felt so right to his whirling spirit as it joined in the most blessed dance of life with that of the mortal he had once raised in his household.  
  
Decades later, the last battle was fought, the war was ended and neither victor nor captive emerged, but lovers. And Elrond knew in his heart that he was doomed to love this man just as surely as Aragorn loved him. 


End file.
